


House of Leaves

by Cerih



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, House of Leaves, M/M, Rift (Torchwood), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerih/pseuds/Cerih
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the outskirts of Cardiff stands a house like no other. When Jack inherits it from a man from his past, the team discover extraordinary things, meet visitors from a great distance away and perhaps even learn a thing or two about themselves and their co-workers. Jack and Ianto centric. Ianto/Jack, Jack/OMC pairings. Spoilers for season 1 and early season 2. Canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no claim over Torchwood, which is owned by the BBC. This story is just for fun and I make no money from it.
> 
> Author’s note: So despite planning to take a break for long stories, that didn’t quite happen. This began with a very simple idea some time late last year. My dog had brought in some dry leaves and somehow a couple had found their way upstairs to my bedroom. I stared at them one morning and thought about what stories they might have to tell. And in that moment, the House of Leaves was born in my head. It expanded to include some general themes that my beta and I had discussed for potential future stories for me to explore and the rest, they say, is history.
> 
> This takes place between To The Last Man and Meat, and will be a canon story.
> 
> I am, as always, indebted to my beta, Darcy58, for his encouragement, guidance and wise words. I’m extremely pleased that he was up for another long haul! And indeed, I couldn’t imagine anyone else betaing my stories now.
> 
> I’m particularly grateful for him, because I ran full speed into a brick wall with this prologue. I managed to develop a complete mental block with it, so much so that although I was writing later chapters and that was going well I came very close to abandoning this whole project. It was only my beta’s patience and reassurance that got me over the issues and enabled me to get to a point where I was happy with what I’d written. So if you enjoy this story, know that it’s here only because of Darcy58. 
> 
> This is all for you.

The House

Every leaf has a story. For one particular house that is quite literally the case, every leaf indeed has a story to tell.

It is a house on the outskirts of Cardiff, at the far end of a no-through road. On a road of brick buildings, its wooden walls and unusual architecture stand out, despite its unassuming air. 

Hedges of hawthorn surround its large garden. Once trimmed into neat orderly angles, now overgrown and left to spread unchecked, they offer a safe haven for all manner of wildlife. Likewise the garden, once well kept and tended to with love has over time been reclaimed by nature. Where daffodils, snowdrops and tulips once grew in neat rows around flower beds, they now spread with wild abandon and dot the grounds in random clusters. Here and there, berry bushes grow tall and knotted, protected by thick clumps of stinging nettles. Time and nature have morphed the lawn into a colourful meadow of wildflowers, supporting a host of miner bees and drawing in from afar swarms of hard working honey bees, fluffy bumblebees and all manner of beautiful butterflies. Ivy and other creepers snake through the tall grass, weaving winding trails across the garden and wrapping the trees in their choking embrace. None touches the house itself, no weed has taken root on the stone steps of the enclosed porch, nor has a tree root damaged the moss covered grey foundation stones. 

At the back of the property, shaded by old, leaning trees is a small pond, overgrown with reeds. Every so often a brief flash of golden light can be seen, when a ray from the sun touches upon the bright scales of koi inhabiting its watery depths. On clear evenings, mist rises from the water, spreading damp tendrils across the lawn. Gradually they blanket the whole garden, until the house and the trees rise from a sea of obscuring whiteness and everywhere spiders' webs become strings of pearls, weighed down by neat rows of dew drops.

Many oak trees grow in the grounds, as do maples and elms. Every autumn and winter the earth disappears beneath a carpet of brightly coloured leaves. Strong branches, gnarled like old fingers, reach towards the house. In the slightest breeze swathes of leaves stroke its walls gently, as if soothing a lover to sleep.

Throughout the year, no matter the season, the leaves in the garden whisper. They whisper when the wind is strong and they whisper when not a blade of grass stirs. They whisper in the summer, when the trees are lush and green, and in the winter, when the leaves form whirling mounds of colour in the garden. And they whisper a continuous, soothing sound, composing music of their own kind; a music easy to get lost in. Many people have done so, only to awaken from deep thoughts filled with melancholy and strange tranquillity. Over the years more than one person has found the garden a perfect place for quiet meditation. The music of the leaves reaches to their very souls as they surrender themselves to the world around them. The whispers offer inspiration for artists, hope of a bright future for young lovers and peace for those in mourning. None are left untouched by the whispering leaves.

Situated towards the front of the generous plot of land, ‘Oaken Home’ - for that is its formal name - has rooms that are spacious and bright, light flooding in through numerous windows. Once painted a pale yellow in colour, weather and age have caused the paint to bubble and peel, revealing the grey wood underneath; a wood that will endure any storm. The sienna roof tiles are green with moss, adding to its air of distinction.

A painted terracotta tile by the front door reads ‘Oaken Home’, but each owner of the house knows it by a different name. A name that has never been written down on any official paperwork, a name never passed on from one owner to the next, but as soon as people pass through the front door, they _know_. They know they have entered the House of Leaves.

None can explain how this instinctive knowledge arises and yet to question it is inconceivable. Some try to research the origins of the name, but always they come up empty handed. Sooner or later the same baffling conclusion is reached: it is the name the house has chosen for itself. No name could describe it better.

Inside the house, the leaves are everywhere. They settle underneath beds, cluster in corners and cling on to rugs. Even in the summer, when the trees outside wear shrouds of green, the leaves inside are yellowed and dry. No one quite knows how the leaves enter the house, but every day new ones appear, as if by magic. There are moments when the entire house seems to draw in its breath, and then another leaf floats down the stairs, its progress unhurried and curiously dignified. Although they are yellow and orange and red, none feel it right to describe them as dead. There is plenty of life left in the leaves.

The leaves are indestructible. Any attempt to burn them simply floats them in the air, held aloft by the hot currents of the fire. A leaf cutter that sucks in and shreds leaves returns them out undamaged. Piling them into a bin bag for disposal invariably ends up with the bag splitting and the leaves spilling everywhere. Sweeping them out of the house is ineffective, for they always make their way back in. Each is undamaged and without tears or missing sections. Each seems too perfect to be a real leaf. But they look real and they feel real. They make the right sound, rubbing against one another, and they even smell real. They are real leaves and yet they are impossible.

Sooner or later, each owner has ended up dealing with the leaves in the exact same fashion: the loft. In the highest part of the roof, where one would expect to find a part boarded loft, there is instead an additional room. Its ceiling is slanted and it has numerous windows, some of which are circular and point to the sky. Perhaps it would make a lovely room for an older child, or a quaint guest bedroom, but for the fact it is filled with leaves. Decades’ worth of them have been heaped in the room, where they rustle and dance to a melody only they can discern. 

For every owner a pattern emerges. Whenever the leaves appear elsewhere in the house, they are taken to the loft room. In this way, both the house and the inhabitants remain happy. And indeed it is a happy house, one which has always welcomed life and laughter within its walls. The structure of the house is suffused with the simple joys of ordinary days as well as the memories of more special occasions: of births, weddings, reunions. Even funerals have added to the mix of emotions, their sweetness and grief commemorating lives lived to the fullest, celebrating love that endures until death and beyond. All who have lived in the house have felt safe and loved, protected by the House of Leaves.

As a result, none of the owners have ever begrudged the presence of the leaves. Nor have they been worried by the lights flickering for no apparent reason or by the strange sounds that sometimes came from the loft room. Even the occasional face spotted at the window of the loft did not worry the inhabitants. Let the house have its quirks, they said with a smile and a shrug. They were happier in that house than anywhere else and none would change it for the world.

The house has been empty for many years. The leaves have been left to float through the house and gather in its corners undisturbed, while the garden has grown wild unchecked by human hand. The residents of nearby houses wander in to pick blackberries and raspberries, or to enjoy the serenity of the garden. None enter the house itself. Some, perhaps those who are the more perceptive, claim the house is mourning the loss of people living there, the loss of the sounds of human happiness, but such talk is quickly dismissed as nonsense. Most agree, however, that there is something melancholic about the house.

Light fades on another day and as the leaves whisper their music, on the other side of the city a man drew his final breath, confident he is leaving the House of Leaves in good hands.


	2. The Last Will and Testament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and I make no money from this.
> 
> Author’s note: Now we’ll really get going, although I should warn you that this story will progress pretty slowly. Please don’t despair!
> 
> I’m indebted as always to my wonderful beta, Darcy58. He’s my rock.

Last Will and Testament

A quiet rap on the door alerted Jack to Ianto’s presence before he walked in. He was holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

“Ah, Ianto.” Jack smiled and eagerly reached for the coffee.

Handing the coffee over, Ianto stopped in front of the desk and tilted his head to the side. “If I was minded to be cynical, I would question whether you are happy to see me or the cup of coffee I was carrying.”

“You wound me so!” Jack exclaimed. “I happen to appreciate you far beyond your coffee making skills.”

Jack winked at him, which made Ianto roll his eyes.

“I have no trouble guessing just which of my skills you so appreciate,” he remarked in his driest tone.

Jack made a show of checking him out. “Your assets are…considerable.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Sir.” Ianto spoke the last word in his most sensual tone, gratified by the heat it elicited in Jack’s eyes in response. Then he was all business again. “I’ve dealt with much of the usual post, but this did come to you, care of the Tourist Information Office.”

Ianto handed Jack an envelope, together with a pile of reports from the rest of the team. Jack glanced at it, surprised to see the envelope intact.

“You didn’t open it?” he queried.

“It says ‘Private and confidential’ on it, Sir,” Ianto pointed out.

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

“Only when you are here,” Ianto noted. 

Jack shrugged in response and tore open the envelope. Inside was a single page letter printed on letter headed paper. Jack’s eyebrows gradually climbed up as he read what it said.

“It's from a local solicitor, Mr Munroe. Apparently someone has left me a legacy in their will and he would like me to visit him so that he can explain everything in detail.”

“Shall I make an appointment for you?” Ianto offered.

“Please. But I would like you to come with me, just in case.”

“Jut in case what? Surely we are not expecting to be attacked by Weevils in a solicitor's office?”

“I shouldn't think so. But legacies sound like there is paperwork involved and you're much better at paperwork than I am.”

“Very well then, I'll contact Mr Munroe and set up an appointment for us.” Ianto turned towards the door with a nod. After a few steps, he paused and glanced over his shoulder at Jack. “The person who died: were the two of you close?”

“We were, a long time ago,” Jack said, eyes fixed on the letter. He looked up long enough to flash Ianto a small smile. “But we lost touch and I haven't heard from him in decades.”

“Nevertheless, I'm sorry for your loss, Jack,” Ianto spoke with a great deal of sympathy.

“Yeah. Thanks, Ianto.” Jack looked away and Ianto took that as his cue to leave. He had a solicitor to ring and the Weevils in the cells were not going to feed themselves.

* * *

At precisely 10am the following morning, Jack and Ianto stepped into the bright reception area of Munroe & Sinclair LLP. The receptionist glanced their way briefly and then did a double take. Her smiled widened as she greeted the handsome men before her: “Good morning. How may I help you?”

“Captain Jack Harkness and Mr Jones here to see Mr Munroe,” Jack announced them as he flattered her with a smile.

“Le-let me just inform him that you're here,” she stammered, flushing from the attention. She picked up a phone and dialled an internal extension number. “The gentlemen for your 10 o'clock appointment have arrived, Sir.”

She listened to the response and then put the phone down. Giving Jack a bright smile she said, “Mr Munroe will be here in just a moment. Perhaps you'd like to take a seat while you wait?”

“Thanks.” Jack nodded and they moved to a leather sofa set at an angle to the reception desk.

The receptionist watched as Ianto helped Jack out of his coat and then shrugged off his own. Jack gave Ianto a small smile as thanks and they sat down together, just close enough that their knees were touching. She began to suspect that she had got the wrong impression about the two men and this was confirmed by the way they looked at each other.

“Tease,” Ianto muttered to Jack in a low voice, leaning slightly closer, but only amusement coloured his voice.

“Made her day, didn't it?” Jack responded with a grin. “Shame I can't get you to blush like that simply by looking at you.”

“I'm sure you could,” Ianto countered with a quick wink, “but I think the circumstances would have to be a little different.”

Jack's grin widened as he considered the possibilities. “Prey, do tell?”

Before Ianto could elaborate, an older man walked into the reception. He was in his late sixties, rotund in a decidedly jolly fashion and dressed in a traditional three piece suit. He peered around the reception area through the half-glasses resting on his bulbous nose and spotting the men on the sofa, he came forward with his hand extended.

“Gentlemen, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Iain Munroe.”

They rose to shake his hand and Jack introduced them both. “Captain Jack Harkness, and this is my associate, Ianto Jones.”

“Follow me, please.” Mr Munroe led them through the double doors and along a corridor lined with dark wooden doors. Choosing the last one on the right, he ushered them into his spacious office.

The room was dominated by a large mahogany desk. On the desk were only a phone, a lamp and a single file, which made Ianto nod in approval. Two of the walls were lined with book cases, filled with leather bound volumes, together with a few shelves of more modern looking texts. Flanking a large window was a pair of wooden filing cabinets.

Mr Munroe indicated that they should sit on two mahogany chairs in front of the desk, while he walked around it and settled in his own chair. Ianto moved to drape their coats over the backrest of his chair, but then he spotted a coat stand in the corner. He hung the coats up before returning to the others and once seated, pulled a notebook and a pen out of the slim briefcase he had set on his lap.

“Before we get started, could I offer either of you anything to drink?” Mr Munroe asked.

“A cup of tea would be lovely,” Ianto replied.

“Just water for me, please,” Jack added.

Mr Munroe dialled a number on his phone and after a ring the receptionist's cheery voice was heard through the speaker phone. “Julia, would you please bring us two cups of tea and a decanter of water?”

“Right away, Sir.”

“Thank you.”

Giving the men before him a smile, Mr Munroe opened the file. “Right then, Alexander Hills died just over three months ago. He was a client of mine for a long time and I was the sole executor of his will. I received the Grant of Probate last week and can now start to administer the estate. Under his will, Mr Hills left his main property, Oaken Home on Springwood Lane, to you, Captain Harkness. The legacy was incidentally made free of inheritance tax.”

“Am I right in thinking that therefore the residue of the estate bears the tax due?” Ianto asked, looking up from the notes he had been making.

“Yes, that’s right.” Mr Munroe nodded.

Jack was considering how best to respond, when there was a knock on the door and the receptionist walked in with a tray. She served tea for Mr Munroe and Ianto, and then placed a decanter of water with three glasses on the table. Jack poured himself some water while she left the room.

“You must excuse my lack of response,” he said after a moment's silence, “but this really has caught me by surprise. Alexander and I lost touch a long time ago and to have benefited from his will - especially to the magnitude of a property - is utterly unexpected.”

Mr Munroe pulled a sealed envelope from the file and handed it to Jack. “Perhaps whatever is in there will help explain Mr Hills' reasoning. He asked it to be kept here with his will. But just in case you were wondering, there is no question about Mr Hills' mental capacity at the time of making the will. I took the instructions personally and he was quite clear about what he wanted to do with Oaken Home. In fact, that bequest to you has featured in the last three of his wills, which covered approximately the last twenty years.”

Jack nodded his thanks as he took the envelope. Part of him wanted to open it straight away, but instead he walked over to the coat stand and tucked the envelope deep into an inner pocket of his coat.

When Jack was looking at him once more, Mr Munroe continued: “Mr Hills included a letter of wishes alongside his will, which requested that the house not be sold. A letter of wishes is not of course legally binding, but merely the testator's steer for his executors. I don't know whether you are familiar with that area of the city, but Oaken Home has a great deal of development potential. A property development company has been eyeing up that plot of land for several years now. I believe they would like to knock down the house and replace it with a block of flats. However, Mr Hills categorically refused to even entertain the idea of selling Oaken Home. I always found that a little strange, since he has not lived there for years.”

“Why not?” Jack asked.

“A skiing accident in Canada left him paralysed from the waist down and triggered certain other health issues. The house was simply too much to cope with and not suitable for a wheelchair user. He moved to an assisted living flat in the city centre, but for whatever reasons he never sold or rented out Oaken Home. I suspect that deep down he always hoped he might one day return there. But unfortunately he never did.”

Jack was struck speechless by Mr Munroe’s words, sadness washing through him. But a memory niggled at the back of his mind, which he voiced. “What about his family? He did have a wife and children, did he not?”

“He divorced his wife a long time ago. You may not have been aware, but Mr Hills was gay. He did have three children from his marriage and his will left them well provided for.”

As he processed Mr Munroe’s words, Jack was vaguely aware that Ianto asked another question, something about provisions and claims under the will, but he could not focus on either his words or the response he was getting. He tried to imagine Alexander with his wife, but he found he could not. Then he tried to imagine him with another man, but again all he could conjure up from his memories was the image of Alexander asleep in his arms. When silence fell in the room, Ianto shifted his legs so that his knee brushed against Jack's. Grateful for the contact, Jack gave him a small smile in response before speaking, “So what happens next?”

“As I said, Probate has been granted, so I am in a position to distribute the specific legacies left under the will. I have prepared an assent, which will pass your legacy to you. Once that has been signed by both of us, there will be Land Registry forms to fill so that the Title Deed is transferred to you. But before that's done, I will need to see some ID and proof of address from you, Captain, to satisfy the usual money laundering requirements.”

Jack's hand dove into this coat pocket to retrieve his official Torchwood ID, but before he could pull it out, Ianto had snapped open his briefcase.

“I'm assuming passport and a recent council tax bill are sufficient?” he asked, even as he handed the documents over. Jack was careful to keep his face neutral as what could only have been a forged American passport changed hands. He assumed the council tax bill was for one of the safe houses Torchwood kept around Cardiff.

“Perfect.” Mr Munroe gave the documents a cursory glance before setting them on the desk, to the left of the open file before him. “I'll take copies of both for our files before you go.”

He opened the estate file at a different section and pulled out a single sheet of paper from a plastic wallet. Turning it so it was facing Jack and Ianto, he slid it across the polished surface of his desk. “This document here is a simple assent. It records that Oaken Home is transferred to you absolutely in satisfaction of the specific legacy left under Mr Hills' will. Once I have signed as the executor and you as the beneficiary, I will date the document and it's done. I'll get you a photocopy to keep for your records. I have also taken the liberty to complete the Land Registry forms, so that they can be sent off today.”

“Very efficient,” Ianto murmured and gave Mr Munroe an approving look. 

Jack nodded. “I agree. Let's get to it.”

Ianto handed him a pen and Jack signed his name on the indicated line with a flourish. Mr Munroe placed the document before him and did the same. A quick glance at his Rolex and he jotted down the date. He produced further paperwork for the Land Registry from the file and these were also attended to with similar efficiency.

Mr Munroe set the signed papers next to Jack's ID documents and appeared satisfied. “Now that the formalities are finished, there are few taxation matters I would like to draw your attention to.”

Jack looked like he might protest, but Ianto nudged him with his knee. With a swallow Jack indicated that the solicitor should continue.

“You may already know this, but any assets of the deceased receive a free capital gains tax uplift on death...”

While Mr Munroe talked, Jack’s attention slipped from the practicalities to the man who had brought him to the office. His mind still reeled from the thought that Alexander had been in a wheelchair. As he recalled the energetic, at times exuberant young man he had known, his heart clenched in sympathy. Losing the use of his legs would have hit Alexander hard, he was certain of it. He wished he had known, and been there to help the man who had once meant so much to him.

Another gentle nudge from Ianto brought his attention back to the present and he found that the solicitor was still speaking. “…and if you do choose to sell it to the property developers you may realise a substantial capital gain which will be taxable at eighteen percent.”

“But subject to the usual annual exemption?” Ianto checked.

“Yes, of course.” Mr Munroe directed his next words to Ianto, since it appeared he better understood what he was saying. “And should Captain Harkness wish to let out the property, he will have to pay income tax on the rents.”

Ianto nodded. “Understood.”

Mr Munroe got up. “In that case, let me just take copies of these documents for you and get the keys to your house from our strong room. Once that's done, I shan't detain you gentlemen any longer.”

He led them back to the reception and then disappeared with the stack of documents. While they waited, Ianto held up Jack's coat for him. His hands lingered on the broad shoulders a fraction longer than necessary, before he stepped back, mindful of the receptionist watching them with open curiosity.

A few moments later, Mr Munroe returned with a plastic wallet containing the photocopies for them, together with Jack's original ID documents and a key ring full of keys. Ianto took the papers without even thinking about it and slipped them into his briefcase, while Jack pocketed the keys.

“Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure to meet you,” Mr Munroe said and shook their hands. “Captain Harkness, should you have any queries regarding your legacy, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

“I won't,” Jack replied with a smile. “Thank you again for your assistance.”

They bid their goodbyes and walked out. The sun was peeking from behind ragged clouds and Ianto stopped to angle his face towards the warmth.

“He is very efficient,” he murmured. “I'll make a note of the firm, should we need any legal work done in the future.”

“Good idea,” Jack agreed. He then glanced at Ianto with an expression of intrigue.

“What is it?” Ianto asked without looking at Jack.

“How is it that you knew all that gains tax stuff?”

Ianto's eyes flickered in Jack's direction as he started towards the SUV.

“You mean annual exemption and capital gains tax,” Ianto corrected. “It's part of my job to know the basics of the UK tax system, seeing as how I complete and file everyone’s tax returns, including yours.”

“Why would I need to file a tax return?” Jack queried, now even more confused.

“You – we all – need to declare our salaries somehow. And Torchwood can't exactly operate a payroll scheme.”

“But Torchwood is a secret organisation; we shouldn't have to pay tax!” Jack protested.''

“Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs feel otherwise, Sir. And who are we to argue with Her Majesty?”

“I bet you could,” Jack murmured, amused by a plan beginning to form in his mind. He looked at Ianto with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “In fact, I really ought to introduce you two. I think I'll do just that, the next time I'm summoned to London to provide a report on our activities.”

“Jack,” Ianto started to protest, but Jack cut him off.

“She's going to love you and I bet you know the correct protocol of petting the Corgis and for drinking tea at Buckingham Palace.”

“Great...” Ianto muttered, his face darkening at the thought of Jack's plan.

Jack flashed him a triumphant grin, but he soon sobered as his thoughts returned to the legacy he had been given. The keys to Oaken Home in his pocket seemed to weigh a ton.

Sensing the change in Jack's mood as they reached the SUV, Ianto glanced at the sky and then at his watch. “It's a nice day. I think I'll walk back to the Hub and pick up lunch on the way there.”

“But I'm only going to drive back to the Hub...” Jack started and then stopped his protest in mid sentence. His eyes softened as he regarded Ianto over the wide bonnet of the car. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Ianto nodded, unspoken affection clear in his demeanour. “Call me if you need anything.”

“You too.”

With a final look at Ianto, Jack got in the car. He watched as Ianto walked away in the direction of the Roald Dahl Plass. He was about to start the engine when it dawned on him that he had no idea where to go. Before he could solve the problem, a bag on the passenger seat caught his eye. Thinking that Ianto had accidentally left it behind and that he might want it back, Jack pulled it closer. As he did so, a folded piece of paper fell out and landed between the seats. Picking it up, Jack saw that it had his name on the top. Feeling intrigued, he opened it to find a note from Ianto.

_'Jack_

_I assumed that you would want a moment. I hope these help._

_I'_

Below Ianto's neat handwriting was a print out of a map to one of Cardiff's cemeteries, with a specific plot circled in red. A quick perusal revealed the rest of the bag to contain a grave candle and a box of matches.

Jack felt his throat tighten at Ianto's quiet empathy. Not only did Ianto know him well enough to realise that he would need a moment alone to gather his thoughts, but he had also anticipated where Jack would prefer to be for that moment.

Pulling out his phone, he sent out a text message. It was brief, but he knew Ianto would see not what he had said but everything he had left unsaid.

_'Thank you.'_

His task done, Jack put the phone away, had another look at the map and drove off.


	3. Frozen Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and I make no money from this.
> 
> Author’s notes: I’m even more indebted than usual to my beta, Darcy58, because of the time period much of this chapter revolves around. I wasn’t born until the 80s, so needed a lot of help with expressions and social norms. My beta’s support remains an integral part of my writing process and I really wouldn’t be able to do this without him. More importantly, I wouldn’t want to do this without him. So, as always, my most humble thanks.

Frozen Memories

Jack spotted the grave from afar; it was the only recent one in that part of the cemetery. Sufficient time had passed since the funeral for the ground to have settled, and a permanent head stone had been erected. It was a simple marker of polished black granite etched with silver lettering.

Crouching down next to the grave, Jack ran his fingers over the letters, tracing the curves and angles of the familiar name.

“Alexander,” he murmured, “this is not quite how I envisaged our reunion.”

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift to places he had not visited in years.

* * *

_Jack was striding along a beach a couple of miles outside Cardiff. It was late August and, although the sun was nearly below the horizon, the heat of the day still lingered. Too intent on the trail he was following to really pay attention to his surroundings, he was vaguely aware of a bonfire and a group of people he was passing. He was using a piece of alien machinery, adapted to the purpose by Torchwood's technical genius, Amy Ferris, to track down an alien that had crashed in the nearby field._

_His concentration was disrupted when a voice called out to him:_

_“Care to join us for a drink, friend?”_

_Slipping the small machine into his pocket, Jack turned around to face the young man approaching him. He ran his eyes up and down the stranger by habit, taking in dark, curly hair, green eyes, chiselled features and a muscular body. As intrigued as he was by the offer, he was conscious he had a potentially hostile alien to find._

_“Can't, I'm afraid,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe another time.”_

_“You assume we will both still be here another time,” the stranger replied with a hint of challenge in his voice, his Irish accent sounding out of place in the Welsh countryside. The way his eyes roamed over him led Jack to conclude that they might well have some mutual interests._

_Jack shrugged, offering him a rueful smile. “I guess that's a risk I'm going to have to take. I really am in the middle of something at the moment.”_

_“What could possibly make you too busy to share a drink, here in the middle of nowhere?”_

_“Can't tell you that, I'm afraid,” Jack avoided the question. “But trust me, I'm not turning down a drink with you lightly.”_

_“That’s something, I suppose,” the other man remarked. He then held out his hand. “I'm Alexander Hills, by the way.”_

_Jack shook his hand, letting the contact linger far longer than would be usual. “Captain Jack Harkness.”_

_“And are you a real captain, Captain?”_

_“I am indeed.”_

_Alexander nodded and licked his lips. “Good answer. I do like a man in uniform.”_

_Jack stepped a little closer, distracted for a moment by the casual flirting. “I'm glad to be of service.”_

_“Oh, I can think of plenty of ways you could be of service,” Alexander said with a slow wink._

_“And I would love to hear you explain those things in minute detail, but I'm sorry to say that duty calls.” Jack stepped away with an apologetic smile. “It's been a pleasure meeting you, Alexander Hills.”_

_He had advanced a few yards before the Irish voice halted him once more. “Will your duties keep you all night?”_

_Jack turned to face Alexander again, now very intrigued by the forwardness of his advances. “I'm hoping not,” he replied after a moment's silence._

_Alexander stalked up to Jack and leaned to whisper in his ear. “I'll be here until sunrise. The others will depart soon. Come find me.”_

_“I'll do my best.” Jack grinned, enjoying the solid weight pressed against him. “You've certainly given me some interesting ideas.”_

_“I look forward to seeing how you turn your ideas into actions, Captain,” Alexander purred into his ear and backed away. He walked back to the bonfire and his friends without hurry, seemingly aware of Jack's eyes admiring his every move._

_“Me too,” Jack murmured under his breath and resumed his alien tracking activities._

_Later that night, Jack was retracing his path along the beach. His heart was as heavy as his tired steps. The alien, a Thorian Guide, had been wounded in the crash and had not survived for more than a few hours. With his limited supplies and first aid skills, Jack had not been able to do much beyond making her comfortable and sitting with her until the end. Rather than making a long journey to reach the nearest phone to call Torchwood Three's notoriously unreliable doctor, Jack had offered the wounded woman what little comfort she could gain from his presence. From their limited conversation, she had been grateful for a friendly being by her side as death had approached. Now her body was concealed as best he could manage. He would have to return with help during the daylight hours to move it._

_As he reached the bonfire, his steps slowed of their own volition. He found it deserted. The fire was dying down, its red embers casting an eerie glow upon the logs that formed a circle around the fire pit. Stamping down his disappointment, Jack moved to carry on toward his car, when the now recognisable voice stopped him._

_“I half expected never to see you again, friend.”_

_Alexander emerged from the darkness to Jack's right, a small smile playing on his lips. His legs were dripping wet. Jack concluded that he had been wading in the water when he had heard the approaching foot steps._

_“I did promise I would try to come back,” Jack reminded him._

_“Seems you are a man of your word, Captain.” Alexander tilted his head, regarding him with curiosity._

_“Please, call me Jack.”_

_“Very well, Jack. Now that you're here, how would you propose we pass the rest of the night?” Alexander questioned as he moved to stand within inches of Jack._

_“You did say you wanted to see my ideas turned into actions,” Jack returned as he leaned in to inhale Alexander's scent. Beneath the mixed aromas of smoke and sea he found the husky scent of the man himself. When he spoke again, his lips brushed against Alexander's jaw line with every word, “I should warn you, however, that I have a fantastic imagination and therefore an unlimited supply of ideas.”_

_“I am at your disposal,” Alexander growled and pulled Jack into a smoke stained kiss._

* * *

_“So what brings an American Captain to a deserted beach in Wales in the middle of the night?”_

_They were lying on Jack's coat, watching the first light of the new dawn creeping across the dark horizon. Alexander was tracing lazy circles over Jack's abdomen with his finger tips as he spoke._

_Jack tilted his head so that he could see Alexander from the corner of his eye before he responded, “I can't tell you that either, I'm afraid.”_

_“Classified?” Alexander queried._

_“Very much so.” Jack nodded._

_“The Army still likes its secrets, I suppose.”_

_Jack opened his mouth to correct his mistaken view, but then closed it without saying anything. Alexander noticed this and a flash of understanding passed over his features only to be replaced by a look of intrigue._

_“Unless of course you're not affiliated with the army at all, but work for someone or something else entirely,” he speculated, keeping a close watch on Jack's expression._

_“Something like that,” Jack admitted with a touch of unease at Alexander’s scrutiny._

_“In that case, your attire is misleading,” Alexander chided him with a wry grin. “This is the era of peace and love after all, even if we are a couple of years too late for the Summer of Love.”_

_Jack shrugged as best he could whilst lying down. “What can I say? I'm attached to my vintage attire.”_

_“Oh, I'm not complaining in the slightest! I found your clothes very appealing, although I must admit that my preference is for your current state of undress.”_

_“I can't imagine why,” Jack chuckled and rolled onto his side. He pulled Alexander closer to enable a kiss as he felt deft hands roaming lower along his body._

* * *

_“So, Alexander, let me turn your question back on you: what brings an Irishman to the Welsh coast in the middle of the night?”_

_It was much later and the sun was up, bringing with it the first hints of another hot day. They were dressing without haste, both feeling pleasantly relaxed after the morning's activities. Jack watched as Alexander brushed sand off his shirt, appreciating even more in full daylight just how handsome he was._

_“I moved to Cardiff five years ago, largely to get away from my parents and away from county Tipperary. I studied electrical engineering here. I like Cardiff, I've made a home here for myself. It certainly suits me better than Ireland did; it's far less Catholic and therefore far less repressed.” Alexander flashed Jack a wry smile._

_Jack gave him a sideways glance. “I must admit, you do seem very open minded, even for Cardiff.”_

_Alexander ran his fingers through his dark curls. “In the era of peace and love shouldn’t we try everything once?”_

_“Only once?” Jack answered the question with a question._

_Alexander allowed his voice to drawl as he stepped closer and rested his hands on Jack's hips. “If you like something, I don't see any reason not to go in for a repeat performance...”_

* * *

Jack spoke to the headstone as if he were speaking to the man; his words barely above a whisper. “I never forgot you, did you know that? I know it's been many years, but every so often something sparks a memory, and I think of you with warmth and a smile.”

Reaching into the carrier bag Jack pulled out a candle. His hands trembled as he struck a match to light it. Replacing the perforated lid that would keep the flame safe from the elements, he set it in front of the head stone. The flickering flame cast an orange hue against the polished surface.

* * *

_Jack had just stepped out of a grocery shop when he spotted a now quite familiar figure exiting a bakery across the street._

_“Alexander!” he hailed as he crossed the road._

_Alexander's face lit up as he smiled. “Jack.”_

_“We keep bumping into each other,” Jack chuckled. “It's almost as if we live in the same city.”_

_Alexander inclined his head in agreement. “It's a small world, but you know, I never mind meeting you.”_

_“Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. So, how have you been?” Jack asked as he fell into step alongside Alexander._

_“Great, thanks. I've started a new job, which is much more interesting and pays better. Everybody wins as far as I'm concerned.”_

_“Sounds good, congratulations.” Jack smiled._

_“Thank you. And you? How’s life in that whatever it is you do organisation?”_

_“Fine. It’s just fine,” Jack replied. “And the era of peace and love? How’s that treating you?”_

_Alexander laughed. “It’s been interesting and I’ve tried a number of things since we last met. None, I must admit, quite as interesting as any of our encounters.”_

_Jack’s smile grew speculative. “Maybe you could show me some of those interesting things in more detail.” He then became a little hesitant. “So when can I see you? That’s presuming you want to, of course.”_

_“I'm seeing you now,” Alexander quipped with a grin. ”And what more could I possibly want than time with my Captain?”_

_He paused for a moment to consider his words and hesitation flashed across his features. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say it like I own you.”_

_“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said, quick to brush aside the awkwardness. “I’m off duty tonight, so I’m happy to be at your service.”_

_“If that’s the case, I’d like to take full advantage of your…services.” Alexander retorted with a sly wink. “Now, I’ve always wanted to say this to you: Your place or mine?”_

_“Your place is closer.”_

_Without noticing, their pace had quickened._

_“And you know this because?”_

_Jack grinned. “I have my sources.”_

_“You have me curious, Captain.” Alexander cast a glance in Jack’s direction, but accepted that he would get no further information out of his companion._

* * *

Jack changed his position to sit cross-legged on the ground, his shoulder just brushing the head stone. His coat protected him from the slight dampness of the ground. 

“I guess it’s a little too late to answer all those questions you wanted to ask over the years, but never did.” Jack leant his head against the head stone, thinking back to all the times he and Alexander had sat on his bed, talking. He tried to imagine he was leaning against a warm shoulder rather than against cold granite. “Although I must admit I do wonder how you would have reacted to finding out some of my secrets.”

* * *

_A familiar voice behind him caused Jack to whirl around just as he dumped a second unconscious Weevil into the back of the unmarked white van he was using._

_“I seem to encounter you in some very strange situations.”_

_Jack found Alexander leaning against a lamp post a few yards away, looking intrigued._

_“Alexander,” he stated the obvious. “This is not what you think.”_

_“No?” Alexander tilted his head to emphasise the question. “Pray do tell what it is I think? Because from where I’m standing, it would appear that you just loaded that van with the bodies of two beings that might be humans, but they look a little too wrong for me to quite believe that.”_

_“Ah,” was all Jack managed to say._

_Silence settled between them as Jack tried to think of a suitable lie. The hint of amusement in Alexander’s eyes suggested he knew what was going on in Jack’s head._

_“Those guys aren’t dead, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jack said before the silence became too awkward. “They’re just passed out after too much to drink. They were at a fancy dress party, hence their bizarre boiler suit attire. I was just going to take them somewhere to sleep off the alcohol before they go home.”_

_“Is that so?” Alexander asked, his tone making it clear that he did not believe a word Jack was saying._

_“Yep.” Jack tried his most convincing smile. Not for the first time did he wish Torchwood had a way of modifying or even erasing people’s memories. It would have been very handy in a situation like the one he now found himself in. Then again, Jack thought, could he interfere with the memories of someone he knew as intimately as Alexander?_

_“Very well, Captain, keep your secrets.”_

_Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at Alexander’s easy acceptance_

_“I can’t change who you are, Jack,” Alexander explained. “Besides, it’s not my place to even try. You either trust me with your secrets or you don’t, the choice is yours, as it should be.”_

_“You must understand, it’s not a question of whether I trust you or not. I do trust you. But I have some secrets that are best left that way, for your own safety as much as anything.”_

_“Fair enough.” Alexander nodded._

_“You really are something,” Jack murmured, in large part to himself, but the way Alexander’s smile widened indicated that he had caught the words._

_“I would suggest that we explore that notion in great detail at a more comfortable location, but I imagine you’re currently rather busy.” Alexander made a vague gesture towards the van._

_“Yes, indeed. Can’t leave those two poor drunkards sleeping in the van forever,” Jack noted with a touch of regret. Alexander rolled his eyes at Jack’s insistence on sticking to his unconvincing story. He was about to speak, when Jack continued, “But I could swing by your place a little later, if that would suit you?”_

_Alexander glanced around to make sure they were alone and then made a show of checking him out. “Captain, spending time with you always suits me.”_

_“It’s a date, then.” Jack smiled. “I’ll just finish my task here and then meet you at your flat.”_

_Alexander nodded his agreement. “Until later, then.”_

_Jack gave him a short wave as a goodbye and then walked to the front of the van. With one last glance in Alexander’s direction, he climbed in and started the engine. He could see in the mirror that Alexander remained where he was, watching as he drove off, until he turned a corner and Alexander vanished from sight._

* * *

_“Jack!”_

_Jack had been pulling a bag from the back seat of his car, when the familiar voice stopped him. His face broke into a grin as he turned and called his own greeting._

_“Alexander.”_

_Having hurried closer, Alexander came to a halt with a look of uncertainty on his face. It was clear he was not sure how to greet Jack in public. Jack resolved the dilemma by shaking his hand, allowing the contact to linger to convey a sense of intimacy they shared._

_“Are you okay?” asked Alexander, as he stepped back._

_“Fine, why?” Jack replied, surprised by the question._

_“Well, I haven’t seen you in two months. I was worried something had happened to you.”_

_Jack ran a hand over his face as fatigue and guilt washed over him. “Shit, has it really been that long?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I’m so sorry. I’ve been out of town dealing with something and I appear to have lost all sense of time. I’ve only just got back. If I’d realised, I would have got a message to you somehow.”_

_“I’m just glad you’re not hurt,” Alexander said and then frowned at the shadows flickering across Jack’s features. “It made me realise that I have no way of actually contacting you. Your landlady got completely fed up with me, I was calling by at least four times a week trying to find you.”_

_Jack thought for a moment, raking a hand through his hair. “Look, this is rather unprecedented and I’m not supposed to do this, but do you know the Tourist Information Office at the Mermaid Quay?”_

_“The one at the water front? Sure.”_

_“If you ever need to get a word to me, leave a message there. They will always know how to get hold of me.”_

_“The Tourist Information Office knows how to get hold of the enigmatic Captain Jack Harkness?” The tone made Alexander’s scepticism plain._

_“They do. Please don’t ask any more than that,” Jack requested, closing his eyes briefly against another wave of fatigue._

_“Very well then,” came Alexander’s unexpected reply, “I shall keep that in mind for the future.”_

_“Thank you for not asking,” Jack voice dropped until it was barely above whisper, “for this time and for all the other times you’ve let me keep my secrets.”_

_Alexander shrugged. “It’s who you are. And in the era of peace and love we’re supposed to just let it be. I can’t complain.”_

_Letting out a small laugh, Jack shook his head, lost for words at the easy acceptance offered. “Look, I…” he trailed off and then changed his mind. “Are you busy at the moment?”_

_“Not particularly.”_

_“I’m in a desperate need of a bath and a clean change of clothes, but once I’ve seen to that, perhaps you might like to go get some dinner? It would be nice to catch up.”_

_“That would be lovely, Jack,” Alexander agreed with a slight smile. “Do you want me to meet you somewhere in say an hour?”_

_“Or you could come up and wait in my flat?” countered Jack. “If you wish?”_

_“Certainly. Although you may have to protect me from you landlady, should she spot me in the hallway.”_

_“I’ll sneak you up the stairs. Consider me your knight in shining armour,” Jack assured him._

_“Not a knight,” Alexander objected. “A Captain.”_

* * *

Jack turned his head to the side to look at the head stone he was addressing. “I never told you this, but I had hoped for many more years spent with you.”

He let out a hollow laugh, startling a magpie that had landed near him. “Perhaps that was my mistake; I never told you. Then again, who am I kidding? Considering the circumstances, my job and what society thought at the time, I could hardly give you what you needed.”

* * *

_“I’m getting married.”_

_They were lying side by side on Jack’s bed, sheets tangled around their feet. Jack had been enjoying the shadows cast by the street lights on bare skin, when Alexander made his unexpected announcement._

_“You what?” was as articulate a response as Jack could manage._

_“I’m getting married._

_“Why? I mean… I didn’t realise that interested you in the slightest.” Jack rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow, so he could see Alexander better._

_“You know how I feel about everything in life; I want to try everything once. Or, in rare instances, far more than once.” Alexander flashed Jack a fond smile. “But I thought now would be a good time to give ‘wife and kids’ a try.”_

_“Wow…So… Who’s the lucky girl? I’m assuming you’ve found someone you want to marry?”_

_“Her name is Catherine and she seems open to the idea of marrying me. In fact, the wedding is happening in a month’s time.”_

_“That’s pretty fast,” Jack murmured, shocked by what he was hearing._

_“I’m an impatient man.”_

_“Or perhaps impetuous.” Jack brushed his fingers along Alexander’s jaw. “Are you sure this is what you want?”_

_“I think so.” Alexander shrugged. “But I guess I’ll find out. And it seems the right thing to do.” He laughed with a touch of bitterness, “Or it’s the expected thing, and I am an Irish Catholic.”_

_The movement of Jack’s fingers stilled. “I thought you left Ireland to escape the norms, to be free from that kind of restriction?”_

_“I did.” Alexander looked away, uncertainty and disappointment clear on his face. “It would appear I didn’t run away quite far enough. While I may not be living there anymore, my parents never let me forget my roots or what they think are the responsibilities a good son has to his family.”_

_Jack considered his next words for a long moment, but in the end he could not keep silent. “It sounds to me then like it’s your family making the choice for you, rather than this being something you want to do yourself.”_

_Alexander shifted and roughly kissed Jack to cover the awkwardness he felt at the truth of Jack’s comments, before muttering, “You know me so well. How did you get to know me so well?”_

_Jack’s grip on Alexander’s arms was almost painful as he held him close. “I’ve watched you try to free yourself to become just you. Your free spirit is one of the things that’s so attractive about you, and you’re pretty amazing for giving it space to fly free. But, Alexander, I do understand: it’s not just you, it’s the times we live in, and I imagine parents such as yours are pretty good at the guilt thing.”_

_The laugh he received in response was devoid of mirth. “They are at that.”_

_Jack tightened his hold even further, “I hate to see you do something so huge, so life altering, not because you want to, but because you feel you have to. Damn it, you shouldn’t have to.”_

_Alexander pulled away from Jack’s embrace and sat up on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’ve never told you this, but I always wanted to be more like you,” he confessed over his shoulder. “You always seem so confident, so clear in the choices you make. I wish I could be so fearless. But I guess I’m not as free as I’d like to think, and their opinion of me is important…I can’t escape that, or them. I guess my courage fails me on the big things.”_

_“Did it ever occur to you that I could be so free because I don’t have anyone who might be disappointed by the choices I make?” Jack sat up and rested his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “It’s a freedom I have because I have no one else’s expectations to meet.”_

_“Whereas I do,” Alexander concluded for Jack. His laugh was bitter. “So much for the era of peace and love for someone like me. But I’m so afraid to turn my back on them all; the expectations of my parents, and of society, matter too much for me. And how could I live my life outside that?” He finally turned to look at Jack. “You know what my dad said?”_

_“I could guess, and I’m pretty sure I’d be close, but why don’t you tell me?”_

_“He said, ‘You’ve had your fun, son, but it’s time you did the right thing. Your mother and I need you to settle. All this freedom, she’s beginning to be ashamed. And I won’t have it.’, that’s what he said, that I would make my mother ashamed.”_

_Silence stretched between them as Jack regarded the man, so obviously pained, sitting beside him._

_“Do they know about us? Does Catherine?” Jack finally had to ask._

_“No. Absolutely not. I haven’t told anyone and I can’t even think about her or my family knowing about this. Times may be a bit freer, but not that much, certainly not within the Catholic community – they’d think we’re condemned to eternal damnation.” There was both determination and regret mingled in Alexander’s voice. “So once we’ve wed I will be faithful to her.”_

_“I understand,” Jack replied, looking away to hide both his sorrow for Alexander and his anger at twentieth century human intolerance._

_“I’m sorry, Jack.” Alexander said again and reached to cup Jack’s cheek with his hand, turning his head with the gesture so their eyes could meet._

_“I truly do understand. It’s what you need to do,” Jack reassured him. “This has been a very casual arrangement anyway, and I have no claim over you. Besides, I will support you in any decision you make, even if means the end of us.”_

_“Thank you. I’m going to miss this, miss you.”_

_“Me too.” Jack gave him a rueful smile._

_“Will you come to the wedding?” Even as Alexander asked the question, he looked a little afraid about what Jack would say._

_Jack shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t think society likes male guests who flirt with the groom at his wedding, and you know me; I can’t help myself.”_

_Alexander nodded. “I do. And while I still can, let’s make memories for me to keep.”_

_“Let’s.” Jack agreed and leant in to kiss Alexander, pouring all of his regret and sorrow into it._

* * *

“Seems marriage may not have been such a great idea after all,” Jack murmured. “Did you ever regret the end of you and me, I wonder?”

He adjusted the position of the candle and then ran his fingers over the silver lettering one last time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now. We can’t change the past. I hope you found plenty of happiness in your life to match your spirit.”

He stood, tucking the plastic bag and the box of matches in his pocket, before flashing a curious smile at the gravestone.

“I’m still intrigued by your decision to leave your house to me, but I’ve no doubt your letter will explain your reasoning.”

Jack leaned forward to rest his palm against the head stone, the cold from the granite sharp against his hand. “I hope you won’t mind my stopping by occasionally, now that I found you again. And there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

His hand slipped off the stone as he turned to go. Only a lone sparrow perched on a nearby branch heard the final words Jack spoke to the silence of the cemetery around him.

“Until next time, Alexander.”


	4. The Name of the House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to BBC and this is just for fun, not for making money.
> 
> Author’s notes: As always I’m incredibly grateful to my beta, Darcy58. He knows me very well and isn’t afraid to call me out on being impatient or on my having left something underdeveloped. The comments he makes always leave the story far better than it started. What more could I possible ask for?

The Name of the House

Jack hit speed dial as he walked towards the SUV and activated his comms unit. Ianto picked up after the second ring.

“Jack.”

“Hey, Ianto.”

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

“Fine. Listen, what are the Rift predictions like for the rest of the day?” Jack started the car and moved off in the direction that would take him back to the Hub.

“All should be quiet for the rest of today and there are only minor spikes predicted for tomorrow,” Ianto replied without hesitation.

“Good. Listen, I was going to go check out Oaken Home and I wondered if you wanted to come with me? Perhaps between us we can figure out what’s so special about this house.” Jack was not certain why he felt it important that Ianto accompanied him, but he did know he did not want to face the house alone.

“Certainly, Sir.”

“Excellent. I’m on my way back to the Hub now. Why don’t you meet me on the Plass in, say, five minutes?”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Ianto promised. “Shall I bring lunch with me?”

“No, thanks. I’m not really all that hungry. Tell the others we may well be busy for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Owen’s going to love that,” Ianto muttered.

“I’m sure you can handle Owen and his imagination just fine,” Jack chuckled.

“Decaf remains a real threat to the good doctor,” Ianto remarked and Jack could hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re a dangerous man to anger,” Jack agreed with a laugh, “which is why I do my best to stay on your good side.”

“And would you say the good side was my front or my back, Sir?” Ianto’s voice dropped and his tone was that reserved just for Jack.

“Both have a great many benefits,” Jack mused, trying hard to keep his concentration on the road in front of him, “but to be honest, when you’re making threats about decaf, I’m really not going to risk saying the wrong thing.”

“Diplomacy; interesting.” Ianto’s low laugh sent a shiver down Jack’s spine.

“I have many unexpected sides, of all of which I’m happy to discuss with you later, but first we have a house to explore,” Jack said with a hint of reluctance.

“I’ll see you outside in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Ianto.”

Ianto was waiting by the invisible lift when Jack pulled up and he got into the SUV without delay. Jack turned the car around and chose a different route out of the Plass. He had already entered the post code of Oaken Home into the GPS for directions.

Jack was aware that Ianto was subjecting him to penetrating scrutiny as they drove on in silence. 

“What is it?” he asked when he began to feel uncomfortable.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ianto replied, but kept his attention on Jack.

“You’re not saying anything rather loudly,” Jack countered.

Ianto finally looked in the direction they were driving.

“I was just wondering whether you were okay? And whether you were going to say anything of the story you might have to tell me.”

“I’m fine, Ianto.” Jack gave him a tight smile. “This isn’t the first time I’ve found out that an old lover has died.”

“Still, he must have cared for you a great deal, if he left his house to you long after the two of you lost touch.” Although Ianto kept his tone neutral, Jack sensed what it was he was really asking.

“We met in 1969. He was Irish and had moved to Cardiff with his parents some years earlier. He was to some extent unusually open about his attraction right from the start, given society’s views on same sex liaison at the time. We fell into an easy, casual affair; we were free to date other people as we pleased but we spent nights, and the occasional day, together whenever it suited us both. It wasn’t just about sex either, despite the casualness of it, we enjoyed each other’s company a great deal.”

“What happened?” Ianto asked, encouraged by Jack’s openness.

“Alexander’s motto in life was that one should try everything once. After a few years he decided that it was time to give marriage and fatherhood a try. Although he had rejected much of his Catholic upbringing, there was some pressure from his family and he did want to be faithful to his wife. He therefore put an end, albeit a little reluctantly, to our affair.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No real need to be, Ianto. I could never have given him the stability he seemed to crave and in any case, we could not have been a couple openly in the Seventies. There were all sorts of social constraints and despite how he flirted with me from the moment we met, he was not comfortable enough in his own sexuality to be seen dating another man. We were very much a behind closed doors affair.”

As Jack seemed to be in one of his rare sharing moods, Ianto seized the opportunity to continue asking questions, “What was he like?”

“He was intelligent, quick-witted and very sharp. Gorgeous too, with dark curly hair and deep green eyes. What always intrigued me the most was his willingness to accept my need for secrets. But then, he had some of his own too, like the fact he slept with men.”

“But you knew that one. Did he ever ask or know about yours?”

“There were times when he knew I was lying to him and he called me out on that, but never demanded the truth. I’d say he was very much like you in that regard. Having said that, he was utterly disorganised and made the worst coffee in the world. His tea wasn’t much better either.” Jack chuckled at the thought of how much Ianto would have hated Alexander’s coffee.

He glanced at Ianto with a fond smile. “I think you would have liked him.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Ianto agreed. “Especially if he had the good sense to leave coffee making to the experts.”

“I certainly did my best to convince him that his talents lay elsewhere,” Jack said with a grin.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “I can well imagine.”

They shared a smile, Jack experiencing a great sense of relief at how easy it has been to talk to Ianto about Alexander. His lack of jealousy regarding Jack’s past, and past lovers in particular, was refreshing if perhaps a tad surprising.

“Well, I’m glad you have good memories of him,” Ianto remarked after a moment’s silence.

“I do.”

“I suppose…” Ianto hesitated, glancing at Jack and then away.

“Go on,” Jack urged him with an encouraging smile.

Ianto took a deep breath. “I suppose that’s the best any of us can hope for; that you’ll remember us fondly.”

“Ianto,” Jack started to speak, but Ianto raised his hand to stop him.

“It’s fine, Jack, it really is. I just hope that you will. Remember me fondly, that is.”

Jack slowed down, and mindful of the traffic coming the other way, rested his hand on Ianto’s knee even as he steered around a parked van.

“Ianto,” he started again, voice full of determination, “you know I’ve been around for longer than you can imagine. In that time I’ve met plenty of people. I’ve forgotten many of them, and some have become fleeting memories, recalled every now and again. Sights and smells bring back recollections of others, like Alexander. As awful as it may sound, I’ll probably remember him more now that I know he’s gone.”

“That does make sense.” Ianto nodded.

“Plenty of people have touched my life, and I’ll remember them for it. And every so often someone comes along who leaves behind an imprint that no amount of time can erase.”

“I can imagine it must be hard for you, having to meet and lose people time after time,” Ianto spoke, his tone soft and sad. “Always accumulating names, faces, memories; sooner or later the old ones must give way to new ones.”

“They do,” Jack admitted, his voice laced with regret. “But not all, I don’t forget everyone.”

“So there’s hope for us yet, then,” Ianto replied with a low chuckle.

Jack sat silent for a long while, his thumb stroking the fabric of Ianto’s trousers, the warm flesh beneath offering him a measure of reassurance. “Can I ask you in turn, do you ever think about that, about the fact that I’ll be going on after you and I will outlive you in every sense of the word? That I will most likely be running Torchwood long after you are all gone. I will see a steady stream of Torchwood agents go to their early graves.”

Tilting his head, Ianto considered Jack’s words. “I don’t suppose any of us really want to dwell on that,” he said with a mirthless laugh, hedging around the question. “It’ll be enough to know that you’ll remember us, at least for a little while.”

Squeezing Ianto’s knee, Jack felt a warm hand come to rest over his. “I will remember all of you, no doubt about that. And you, Ianto Jones, you’re far too extraordinary for me to remember you with anything but fondness.” They shared a look then and Jack saw in Ianto’s eyes a hint of uncertainty that was usually hidden behind his impenetrable mask. Despite the serious moment between them, Jack could not resist the temptation to add, “And for your coffee.”

He was rewarded with another eye roll and a low chuckle from Ianto, which broke the tension in the car.

* * *

They found Oaken Home with ease and parked on a thick carpet of weeds on what was left of the drive. Ianto looked at both the house and the large garden with curiosity.

“This place certainly needs some work,” he mused, his tone suggesting that he was already compiling a mental list of all the tasks.

“Sure does,” Jack agreed. “The house looks nice, although it’s massive. Do you want to explore the gardens first, or shall we go check out the house straight away?”

“Let’s start with the house,” Ianto suggested and Jack nodded his agreement.

They climbed the steps to the front porch and Jack pulled out the heavy set of keys he had received from Mr Munroe. It took him a while to figure out the right key but eventually he found one that fit the lock. The key turned without a sound and Jack pushed the door open. They both glanced at the painted tile by the front door, which amidst a floral pattern proclaimed that the house was called Oaken Home. They then stepped through the door into an empty hallway and straight away halted in their tracks.

“The House of Leaves,” they spoke in unison. Glancing at each other, they noticed they wore matching baffled expressions.

“Okay, that was weird.” Jack glanced around the empty hallway for anything that might have prompted their joint declaration, but there was nothing to be seen there.

“Very strange,” Ianto agreed. “Mr Munroe did say the house was called Oaken Home, didn’t he?”

“He did. As does the plaque outside.”

“Then why is it that I’m certain this place is called the House of Leaves? You seem to have had the same thought.”

“I did.” Jack nodded. “I’m beginning to wonder whether there’s a reason for the generous legacy Alexander left me beyond my shared history with him.”

“Surely his letter explained his reasoning?” Ianto quirked an eyebrow.

“I haven’t actually read the letter yet,” Jack told him as he pulled it from his pocket. He tore open the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. Squinting in the dimness of the hallway, he indicated that they should step out onto the porch again, where the light was better.

“Call me if you need me,” Ianto said and made to walk down the shallow steps. Jack’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Read with me?” he asked. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t see the contents of the letter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Ianto returned to his side.

Once the letter was unfolded, they began to read:

_‘My dearest Captain,_

_There’s no awkwardness in saying that now, is there? The only way you’ll ever read this letter is if I’m dead. I never thought I’d become a messenger from beyond the grave, but in this small fashion my voice will carry from beyond an earthly death._

_As it turns out, marriage is something that definitely should be tried only once and even then only for a brief time. By the time I figured that out, I was a father of three and stuck in a loveless marriage. I loved my children dearly, still do of course, but the years spent married to the wrong person taught me a great deal about myself. Don’t get me wrong, I was prepared to accept the consequences of my actions and indeed did so. I threw myself into fatherhood and my work. All the while I did my best to ignore the fact that I longed to have you back in my life, and I admit, back in my bed. When my children were old enough, I seized the opportunity and asked for a divorce._

_It was a great relief to be by myself again! It was only then I could truly be honest about who – or what – I really was. You always knew, I suspect, if for no other reason than my eagerness to be with you. And perhaps it was fate, but as soon as I had accepted that I was gay, I met Will. He may well have been the one true love of my life. We were together for many years, and they were years filled with happiness and laughter._

_I had purchased the House of Leaves after my divorce and we spent our time together there. We lived there as committed to one another as if we had been married, even if society was not ready to officially accept that we had as much right to be together as a man and a woman did. We were still living in the house when Will was diagnosed with cancer. He died a year later, resting in the shade at his favourite spot in the garden. I mourned him there and I think the house mourned with me._

_I was forced to leave my beloved home after my accident. I couldn’t cope with the house and the garden, and in any case it was hardly a suitable home for a wheelchair user. I couldn’t bear to rent it out, no matter how many times people told me it was foolish to leave the house standing empty._

_I saw you over the years, of course. Cardiff isn’t big enough for our paths to never cross. I wanted to come and say hello, so many times. But as you know, I never quite found the courage. At first I thought the temptation would be too great, then I assumed you would have forgotten all about me. Then, as years went by, I began to notice that while my hair turned grey, you stayed as young and handsome as the day I first met you. In fact, it looked like you never aged a day. You and your vintage clothes, frozen in time. Perhaps that was your greatest secret._

_One also can’t live in Cardiff and not hear the rumours about Torchwood. Funny how often those rumours included a mention of a strangely-dressed American. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination to figure out who the rumours were referring to._

_I knew then that I could leave the House of Leaves safely in your capable hands. You will realise as soon as you walk through the door that the House of Leaves is no ordinary building. I know it sounds crazy, but I would say that the house is alive. Many say it’s haunted, but that’s not how it felt to me. I would more argue that the house shares most of itself without reservation, but there are secrets it holds back. In that respect, it’s very much like you, Jack._

_Whatever those secrets may be, one thing is clear: the House of Leaves is important in some way I cannot fully fathom. It must stay standing and it should ideally be full of people and laughter again. I implore you, please don’t let the developers tear it down! I think you’ll like the house and I have no doubt that you’ll understand it better than I do. Perhaps it will even divulge its secrets to you. Please keep them and the house safe._

_All that remains now is for me to say goodbye. You were in my thoughts often, even as I gave my heart to another man. I loved you in my own way, still do in fact, but I realise that you’re not a man to be tied down. But perhaps it may ease whatever loneliness you may have to know that you’ve been loved and remembered with fondness. Will may have been my soulmate, but you were my first love._

_I have just enough Irish upbringing left in me to wonder about what’s coming next. Whatever there may be beyond this lifetime, I hope I’ll see Will again._

_Godspeed my Captain, wherever your long life may take you._

_Yours,_

_Alexander’_

“Extraordinary,” Ianto murmured in awe.

“Yeah, he really was something,” mused Jack, his tone conveying his admiration and affection for Alexander.

Picking up on Jack’s tone, Ianto remarked with certain amount of caution, “Seems he cared for you a great deal.”

“I never knew…” Jack trailed off and reconsidered his words. “Perhaps I did. But it was easier to pretend I didn’t notice his affection, just like it was easier to pretend I didn’t return it, especially once I knew our time together was coming to an end.”

“He regretted letting you go.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“That feeling too was mutual, and yet he did what he felt was necessary. I had no right to stand in the way of that; indeed he probably would have thought less of me if I had done so.”

“So bloody noble, the pair of you,” Ianto muttered.

“Perhaps we were,” Jack conceded with a rueful smile. “But then I thought nobility was part of the job description for me as the leader of Torchwood.”

Ianto shook his head, but said nothing for a while.

“At least now we know that there is something more to the house than meets the eye. And it seems that Alexander also thought that this place was called the House of Leaves, rather than Oaken Home,” Ianto said and glanced at the house beside them.

“Yes, it’s curious that. It wouldn’t be hard to change the official name, so why didn’t he?” Jack folded the letter back in the envelope.

“Perhaps we’ll find the answers inside the house that is supposedly alive?”

“And haunted,” Jack reminded him.

Ianto shrugged. “Living this close to the Rift, I have very little inclination to believe in ghosts. Aliens, sure. But ghosts, not so much.”

“Let’s go see whether this house will prove you wrong,” Jack suggested and opened the front door a second time.

The air inside smelled stale and dusty. The window by the front door was covered in several years’ worth of grime and very little light filtered through faded curtains. Both Jack and Ianto switched on their flashlights to see better through the gloom. From the narrow hallway, doors opened on both sides to various rooms. At the far end was a staircase leading up to higher floors. Scattered across the floor were yellowed leaves.

“Someone must have left the front door open at some point, most likely to air the house a bit,” Jack remarked. “It was probably Mr Munroe, as I imagine he would have come here with the estate agents when the property was valued.”

“Mmm,” was the only reply from Ianto. His attention was arrested by the thick layer of dust on the floor. Several sets of foot prints were visible, coming and going from each room. In addition to the wholly expected signs of recent visitors, there were other patterns recorded in the dust. They were smaller, narrower and occurred at irregular intervals across the hallway floor.

“What do you think those are?” he asked, pointing at the nearest marks with his flashlight.

Jack crouched down, oblivious to his coat gathering dust, and inspected them closer. “I have no idea,” he said as he stood up once more. “They are too irregular to be made by animals.”

“I agree. I must admit, they make me think of someone taking a feather, or perhaps a paint brush and brushing it against the floor. Maybe even one of those leaves.”

“I can see what you mean.” Jack nodded. “But I'm not sure that's the case here. There are no foot prints close enough to some of the marks to suggest they are man-made.”

“True. But if they aren't man-made, then who, or rather what, made them?”

“Good question. Perhaps we'll find the answer in the rest of the house?” Jack indicated towards the closed doors.

“Only one way to find out.”

With a nod, Jack pushed open the closest door and together they stepped into what had probably been a living room. It was spacious, with three sets of windows and a large fireplace. Even with a thick layer of dust everywhere, the dark wooden floor stood in stark contrast with the pale yellow walls and moulded cornices on the edge of the ceiling. The ceiling itself was white and decorated with swirling patterns of plaster. At various points on the walls, darker patches of yellow indicated where paintings and pictures had hung over the years. The fireplace was made of dark stone and included an intricately shaped metal spark guard and matching holder for firewood. Here and there, furniture had been left behind and they were indistinguishable shapes covered in white dust sheets. Again, the first thing they noticed was the leaves.

“There must be a broken window here somewhere,” Ianto mused as they took in the piles of leaves heaped in various places across the room. More leaves were scattered on the floor and under the furniture and some were even clinging onto the dust covers and faded curtains.

Jack walked to the nearest window and drew back the curtains. Clouds of dust swirled as the light flooded in, but the panes were all intact. Jack coughed as he stepped away to avoid the worst of the dust and once it had settled a little, he unlocked and opened the window to let in some fresh air. He then repeated the process with the other two windows, but found none that were broken. He shared a puzzled glance with Ianto.

“How curious.”

“There must be a broken window somewhere else in the house, then,” Ianto speculated.

“The door was closed,” Jack pointed out.

“I know, but you yourself said that the house will have been valued recently for probate purposes. The estate agents or Mr Munroe may have closed the door.”

“True.”

They searched the rest of the downstairs and found a large kitchen, a dining room, a study, a small cloak room and stairs leading down to a cellar. The kitchen was dominated by a large table near the door, although there were only two chairs on opposite sides of it. It could have easily fitted ten people around it and even with the dust sheet on it, they could tell it was made of solid wood. At the far end of the room stood a black Aga, which took up a large chunk of space. Next to it was an old fashioned deep sink, the taps darkened with age and disuse. As a nod to the modern era, amidst the dated décor and fittings, a dish washer sat as part of a range of lower and upper cabinets, their oak doors chosen to match the floor. Ianto opened one of the cupboards out of curiosity, but found it empty. To the left of the large table, a door led out to the rear of the property. Jack and Ianto peered through the glass, but did not unlock the door to go out. 

The dining room was empty, except for a long oak sideboard, which would perhaps have once housed cutlery and crockery used on more formal occasions. The room had been decorated to match the lounge across the hall.

The study next to the lounge had walls covered in mahogany book cases. The only free space was in front of the window. A large mahogany chair sat near the centre of the room, looking a little out of place on its own, and it reminded Ianto instantly of Mr Munroe's office. It was clear that a matching desk had once stood by the window. Ianto lifted one of the dust sheets and was surprised to discover the shelves half full of books.

“I didn't think we'd find any books,” he remarked, pointing his discovery out to Jack.

“Alexander was an avid reader,” Jack recalled. “It stands to reason he would have accumulated large quantities of them over the years.”

Ianto allowed the dust sheet to settle back to its place. “I wonder why he didn't take them all with him, then?”

“I imagine the flat he had to move into following the accident will have been significantly smaller than this place, so he probably didn't have room for them all. Besides, once you're in a wheelchair, you don't have a lot of use for tall book cases.”

“Good point.”

Each room they investigated had piles of leaves and none had broken windows. Ianto noted that the same strange patterns in the dust he had first spotted in the hallway occurred in each of the other rooms as well, although in some of them the foot prints had almost obliterated any trace of them.

The cellar consisted of a utility room, with a washing machine still there, and a cold storage room. There was also a large cupboard, which turned out to be for cleaning supplies. Ianto looked at an old mop and faded plastic bucket and shook his head. The leaves there were fewer in number, but some had made their way down to this level.

“I'm beginning to think that instead of a mop, the inhabitants of this house would have had more use for a leaf blower,” Ianto muttered.

“Perhaps Alexander took it with him when he moved?”

“What possible reason would he have had for keeping a leaf blower in a flat?” Ianto's raised eyebrow was barely visible in the gloom of the cellar.

“Sentimental value?” Jack shrugged. Ianto merely snorted in response.

“Upstairs next?” Jack gave the utility room one final sweep with his torch.

“Yeah.”

There too they found the windows intact and piles of leaves in all the rooms.

The upstairs had four generous bedrooms, all larger than one would expect in a Welsh house. One of them, clearly the master bedroom judging by the en suite bathroom attached to it, was completely bare of furniture. Only darkened patches on the pale green walls indicated that the room had once been fully furnished. The others all had their furniture in the usual places, again covered by dust sheets. Ianto opened the door of a wardrobe and found it empty. In another room, similar investigation revealed a pile of old moth-eaten blankets and pillows. The final room on the first floor was a bathroom the size of a small bedroom. It had both a heavy bath tub in the middle of the room and a shower cubicle at the far end. Ianto stared at the bath tub with its gilded taps and lion feet with obvious interest.

“I always wanted a tub like that,” he said, “but what I couldn't find was a flat big enough to fit one in.” He walked around the tub to look at it in more detail. ”It looks like it could easily fit two people.”

“Perhaps that's why it's here,” Jack suggested with a wink.

Ianto tilted his head as he considered Jack's words. “It certainly provides some interesting opportunities,” he mused, but chose not to elaborate further.

“Alexander was an imaginative man.” Jack's tone was a mixture of fondness and regret.

“He was certainly imaginative enough to leave you this mystery.”

“Yeah.”

They returned to the corridor in silence.

“Do you think the leaves came from there?” Ianto asked, pointing at a further staircase leading up.

“Must have done.” Jack shrugged. “Where else would they have come from?”

Ianto responded with a shrug of his own and started up the final flight of stairs. He found the door at the top locked and they had to shuffle around in the confined space so Jack could unlock the door. While he waited for Jack to find the right key, Ianto became aware of a faint rustling sound coming from inside the room. He stilled Jack’s movement with a hand on his arm and wordlessly indicated that Jack too should listen. He did so, eyebrows rising. With a few quick taps on his vortex manipulator, he ran a scan for life signs inside the room. He showed the negative results to Ianto. Jack loosened his Webley in its holster, while Ianto pulled out his standard issue hand gun. Jack made sure he was far more careful as he picked the suitable key and unlocked the door. He glanced at Ianto to make sure he was ready and then eased open the door.

The loft room was the brightest they had encountered; the sun pouring in through skylights unhindered by curtains. They slipped in, ready for anything but what they encountered. The room was empty of furniture and people; the only things present were leaves. Mounds of them where found all across the room, while others were scattered across the space. The only clear part of the floor was the one they were standing on, swept bare by the opening door.

“Well, this was not quite what I expected,” Jack remarked as he returned his pistol to its holster.

“At least we now know where the leaves came from,” Ianto commented as he too put his gun away.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, staring at the leaves. “Did you notice the staircase leading up here? There were no leaves on it, or on the other staircase, and yet the rooms all have piles of them. Here most of all. Why keep an attic full of leaves, why not just get rid of them? And why weren’t there any on the staircases?”

“There must be some sort of purpose to them,” Ianto said. “It makes me wonder if the leaves from the rest of the house have been brought up here over the years.”

“That still doesn’t explain why anyone would want a house full of leaves,” Jack argued.

“True, although we know this property is called the House of Leaves. I’m guessing the clue is in the title.” Ianto crouched down to pick up the nearest leaf. As soon as his fingers touched it, he froze. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, immediately on his guard.

Ianto touched several other leaves before responding, “Well, we can safely say these are no ordinary leaves.” He picked up the first leaf he had touched and handed it to Jack.

Jack’s eyes widened as soon as his finger tips made contact with it. “I can hear children laughing!”

Ianto offered him another leaf, his voice filled with awe as he spoke, “In this one I can hear a dog barking; there’s another with a baby crying.”

“What are they?” 

Ianto pulled out his PDA and scanned the leaves he was holding. The results made him frown. “The scan suggests that these are ordinary leaves, which I don’t believe for a moment. There must be some sort of psychic element on them that allows us to hear things.”

“I never had you down as psychic,” Jack noted with a quirked eyebrow.

“I was a researcher for Torchwood One; I received basic psychic training when I joined and further training a year into my employment.”

“Does that mean you know what I’m thinking right now?” Jack asked with a grin.

Ianto performed the expected eye roll. “I don’t need to be psychic to know what’s always on your mind.”

“Are you suggesting I have a one track mind?” Jack offered him a mock pout.

“Not so much a suggestion as a statement of fact.”

“Well, I resent the implication,” Jack voiced his objection.

“Resent all you want, doesn’t make it any less true,” Ianto countered without missing a beat.

“There are plenty of situations where I don’t think about sex.”

“Name one,” Ianto challenged him.

“When I’m cleaning up after Myfanwy and you’re not around. Although that would be much more fun if you were around and we were doing the cleaning naked.” Jack grinned at the thought.

“You do realise you’re pretty much making my argument for me?” Ianto pointed out with an amused expression.

Jack took a step closer. “Okay, so perhaps I do think about sex all the time with you around, but who can possibly blame me?”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Ianto replied, his voice husky. He slipped his PDA back in his pocket and then ghosted his fingers over Jack’s jaw.

“Me too.” Jack leaned in to kiss him.

After a long moment, Ianto pulled back and licked his lips. “As enjoyable as this is, I’m not sure we should continue this on top of psychic leaves,” he said, sounding a little out of breath.

“Always the voice of reason…” Jack smiled and stole a final quick kiss before backing away.

“Someone has to be.” Ianto grinned with a pointed look. “But we do have the mystery of psychic leaves to solve, before you get carried away.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Jack defended himself, “not completely anyway.”

“How nice for you,” Ianto said, his tone dry. “Now, I think we need better equipment here to figure out what’s going on with the leaves and the house itself. We might also like to take some of them back to the Hub for detailed chemical analysis.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack agreed, turning his attention back to the real task at hand.

“I’ll go get my field kit from the car.” Ianto let his fingers brush against Jack’s as he walked past and out of the room.

Jack strolled the length of the room, his steps slow and measured. He ended up by a window and found it was one which allowed him to watch Ianto cross the distance between the house and the car. When he was walking back with the field kit, Ianto seemed to sense that he was being watched and he lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s with unnerving accuracy. A smile flashed across his features before he disappeared from the view.

Jack glanced at the heaps of leaves. “What stories have you got to tell me, I wonder?” he mused. “Psychic leaves are a lovely thought. But who would think of such thing?”

It felt like he was being watched, even though there was no one else in the room with him. But the feeling persisted and he recalled Alexander’s words about the house being alive.

“Surely not,” he whispered and then jumped when a voice behind him asked:

“Surely not what?” Ianto walked to stand next to him.

“I was just thinking about Alexander’s letter and his claim that this house is alive. But how could a house be alive?”

“I should think we’ve seen stranger things on the course of our work with Torchwood,” Ianto remarked.

“Perhaps,” Jack trailed off, still staring at the leaves surrounding them with a puzzled frown.

Ianto set the field kit down on the floor and opened it. From one of the many compartments he withdrew a clear specimen bag and selecting the nearest heap, filled it with leaves. The bag was then sealed, labelled and returned to the kit.

“All done,” he announced and straightened.

Jack nodded. “Good, let’s get back to the Hub.”

They walked through the house in silence, closing the windows as they passed the lounge and pausing long enough for Jack to lock the door. Together they walked back down the old drive to the SUV.

Behind them, the rustling in the loft room increased. For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath and after Jack and Ianto drove off, a new leaf floated down the stairs.


	5. Discoveries and Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and I make no money from it.
> 
> Author’s Notes: I am, as always, indebted to my beta, Darcy58, for his support and guidance. I’m even more so now, because while we’ve been editing this chapter, he shared an article on creative writing that sparked a very interesting discussion between him, myself and Gmariam. It has led to a subtle change in my writing style and I’d like to think it’s better for it. We both want to improve our writing and it’s great to be able to do so together. I rely on his guidance and advice a great deal. So, for that too, thank you.

Discoveries and Questions

“Listen up, folks, we have a new case,” Jack announced.

As soon as he and Ianto had returned to the Hub, Jack had gathered everyone in the conference room. He had waited for Ianto to bring mugs of coffee before making his announcement. Having distributed the coffees around the table, Ianto took a seat to Jack’s right.

“Go on, Jack, share the details,” Tosh prompted him with an interested smile.

Jack winked at her before saying, “I was bequeathed a house by someone I knew a couple of decades ago. At this point I have very little information about the house or why I was left such a generous legacy, but Ianto and I went to check it out this afternoon and we discovered some interesting things about it.”

“Such as?” Gwen asked.

“According to the official paperwork it’s called Oaken Home, but as soon as we walked through the front door both Ianto and I knew that its real name is the House of Leaves. And there are leaves everywhere inside.”

Owen shrugged. “So someone hasn’t cleaned in a while. What of it?”

“They’re not ordinary leaves.” Ianto glanced around the table. “There’s some sort of psychic presence within them.”

“Bollocks!”

“Ianto’s right, Owen,” Jack said. “We both felt it. There’s far more to the House of Leaves than meets the eye.”

“Is it a threat?” Gwen queried.

Jack gave her a half smile. “At present I know too little to say yes or no, which is why I want us to look into it. The Rift is currently quiet, so we can take advantage of that. The House of Leaves is a low priority, though, so if something else does come up we’ll deal with that first.”

Tosh looked intrigued. “Where do you want us to start?”

“Find out everything you can about the house from the city records, Land Registry and any newspaper archives. Gwen, I’d like you to contact the police and find out if they have anything on record for incidents involving the house. Once you’re done with that, help Tosh with the background research. Owen, we brought a few of the leaves back with us. Run a detailed analysis on them to see if that yields any further answers.”

All three nodded.

“Tomorrow, I want to take a selection of cameras and sensors and set them up at the house. We ran a rudimentary scan today, but the PDA’s sensors couldn’t really handle the readings, so we need something more powerful. Ianto will get together everything we’ll need for that.”

Owen turned to Ianto. “Okay, let’s see these magic leaves of yours.” His tone made it clear he did not believe there was anything special about the leaves.

“Just a moment.”

Ianto left the room and returned a moment later with his field kit. He set it on the table and snapped it open. Reaching in to grab the plastic bad, he paled.

“The leaves,” Ianto spoke in utter disbelief, “they’re gone.”

“How could they be gone?” Jack came to stand next to Ianto and looked into the kit.

“I don’t know.” Ianto lifted the sealed and marked, but empty, bag out. “I put them in this bag and now they’re gone.”

“Maybe you just left them back at the house by accident?” Owen smirked. Ianto shot him an annoyed look.

It was Jack who responded. “I saw him bag the leaves and put them inside the kit. We did not leave them behind.”

“So how could leaves, even psychic leaves, just vanish into thin air?” Tosh asked.

Jack thought for a moment. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out, first thing tomorrow morning. Let’s get to work, everyone.”

Everyone left the room, except Ianto, who remained where he was, staring into his kit. Jack laid a hand on his shoulder, breaking his concentration.

Ianto twisted his head to look at Jack. “Do you think there was something in the leaves that made them disappear? I know I put them in my kit.”

“I know you did, I saw it. Whatever made them disappear, we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah…” Ianto trailed off, still troubled. “I better make a start on getting all the gear together.”

“Okay.” Jack nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

A brief smile ghosted over Ianto’s features. “Isn’t that my line?”

“I’m just borrowing it,” Jack said with a smile.

“Very well.” Ianto picked up his kit and headed out.

Three hours later, the team was gathered around Tosh’s desk as she summarised her findings:

“The house was built in 1952 by one Jaakko Ojanen, who had migrated from Finland three years previously. He was an architect. The house is a classic example of a Finnish post-war architecture; it has a name which I’m not going to even attempt to pronounce. Ojanen designed the house and built much of it himself with the help of his son and his Welsh brother-in-law.”

“Why build a Finnish house in Wales?” Owen asked.

“I suspect as an architect he appreciated the designs of his home country. And who knows, perhaps he was homesick too. For whatever reason, the entire family migrated back to Finland five years after the construction of the house was finished.”

Tosh called up a list from the Land Registry on her computer screen. “The house has been sold several times since then, although each owner has held it for longer than the Cardiff average for that size of house. The last owner, Alexander Hills, held it the longest.” Tosh glanced at Jack. “This morning a change to the Title Deed was recorded. Now the house belongs to one Captain Jack Harkness.”

Jack nodded in confirmation of this. “What else have you found out?”

“There are various accounts of the house being haunted, but what is notable is that none of the stories originate from the owners of the house. It has always been neighbours or visitors who make such claims. And indeed, each rumour has been denied by the owners, time and time again.”

“So whatever is going on, the owners are either not aware of it, or they are in on it,” Ianto said.

“That’s what it looks like,” Tosh agreed, looking puzzled.

“What kind of haunting are we talking about?” Jack queried.

Tosh twisted in her seat so she could look at him as she spoke. “The usual stuff. Faces in the windows when the house is known to be empty; or lights flickering on of their own accord. Some visitors claimed they heard strange voices and sounds of movement when there was no one else in the house at the time.”

“Do the so called hauntings centre anywhere in the house in particular?”

Tosh gave Jack a pointed look. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“The loft.” Jack’s eyes flickered towards Ianto.

“Correct.”

“Are the leaves mentioned in connection with the hauntings?” Gwen asked.

“No, not as such.” Tosh shook her head. “They are mostly spoken about as a sign of the owners’ eccentricity. Some of the neighbours are on record as questioning why they would fill the loft room with leaves rather than use it as a bedroom.”

“Is it referred to as the House of Leaves anywhere?” Ianto asked.

“Not that I’ve been able to find. The only name on record is Oaken Home.”

Jack turned to Gwen. “Did your talk with the police yield anything?”

“Not much. There has never been a disturbance of any sort at the house. The only time the police were notified was when a man died in the garden. As he was recovering from intensive cancer treatment, the death was considered to be from natural causes.”

“Who was that?” Jack asked the question even though he thought he knew.

“He was called William Davies.” Gwen watched as Jack and Ianto shared a look full of meaning. “Did you know him?”

“No, but he was Alexander’s partner.”

“Oh.” Gwen was not sure what to say.

Jack brought the discussion to a close. “Well, the house certainly has me intrigued. Who knows what else we’ll uncover tomorrow.” He looked at each member of his team in turn. “But for now, go home and get some rest.”

He watched as they all filed out; all except Ianto, who lingered before switching off his computer. Giving Jack an uncertain smile he turned to follow the others out. He had not gone more than two yards before Jack halted his progress.

“Ianto?”

“Jack.” That Ianto used his first name indicated that he already knew what Jack was going to say.

“Stay.”

* * *

 

The following morning the team made a visit to the House of Leaves.

“It’s huge.” Gwen looked at the house with wide eyes.

“It’s different,” Tosh added. “Is this what all Finnish houses look like?”

“This is an unusually large example of the rintamamiestalo style of construction,” Ianto replied, tackling the foreign word with unexpected ease.

“Surely you don’t speak Finnish too, Mr I-Know-Everything?” Owen groaned.

“Google Translate helped with the pronunciation,” Ianto admitted with a small smile.

“Thank bloody goodness,” Owen muttered, relieved. “You’d be even more intolerable if you spoke a whole bunch of random languages!”

An evil gleam appeared in Ianto’s eyes as he tilted his head to the side. “Quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes?”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Owen threw his hands in the air and stalked off, muttering darkly to himself.

Jack turned to Ianto, looking astonished. “You speak Latin?”

“Hardly,” Ianto chuckled, “I’ve just picked up enough phrases to look vaguely clever at times.”

“So what did you just say to Owen? Anything rude?” Gwen asked with a grin.

“Alas, not so much.” Ianto shook his head. “I told him that ‘whatever it is, I’m afraid of the Greeks even when they bear gifts’.”

Gwen frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s from Virgil’s Aenead.” Tosh winked at Ianto. He inclined his head to acknowledge the accuracy of her statement.

Jack laughed. “You two certainly never cease to surprise me.”

Ianto and Tosh shared a grin before turning to Jack. “We try,” they said in unison.

“Are you guys going to stand there yakking all day, or are we here to do some actual work?” Owen shouted from the porch.

“Suppose he’s right,” Ianto muttered with a mock dramatic sigh.

They unloaded their crates of equipment and headed for the house. The gear was stacked on the porch while Jack unlocked the front door. Everyone filed in, except Ianto, who on an impulse turned around and wandered into the garden instead. Jack saw this and after hesitating briefly by the door he followed him.

He caught up with Ianto under the oak trees. “Is everything alright?” Jack asked.

“Hmmm?” Ianto looked up, momentarily confused as if he had been deep in thought.

“What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice carried a hint of concern.

“Nothing, nothing at all. It just occurred to me that we didn’t really have a look at the garden yesterday and I thought I’d have a quick walk around it now.”

Although Ianto smiled at Jack, his eyes were distant. The smile slipped from his face as something caught his attention and he meandered off, seemingly having forgotten Jack’s presence.

“Ianto?” Jack called, but received no reply. Now feeling worried, he strode after Ianto and stopped him by laying a hand on his shoulder. The contact startled Ianto, who shook himself like a dog.

When his eyes met Jack’s again, they were back in full focus. “Sorry. There’s just something about this garden…” he trailed off and scanned his surroundings.

“What do you mean?” Jack was now more intrigued than concerned.

“Can’t you hear the sound the trees are making? It’s like music, and yet it also sounds like there are words being whispered.”

Jack looked up at the trees and focused on the rustling of the leaves. Now that he was paying attention, he understood what Ianto meant. The leaves were whispering a melody of sorts, tempting him to surrender himself further to the music around him. The sounds were all natural and yet they were too harmonious to be a truly random occurrence.

Ianto moved away from Jack and rested his palms and forehead against an oak. It was towering over them and its size made Jack think that it was probably one of the first trees planted after the house has been finished. He stepped behind Ianto and rested his hands on Ianto’s shoulders. “Talk to me.”

Ianto leaned back a little, responding to Jack’s touch. “Whatever is affecting the house has also extended to the garden. I can sense a very vague psychic connection in the trees out here, although it’s much weaker than in the leaves inside. But it’s strange, because all I get is a deep sense of love. I feel loved. Whoever, whatever is behind this has fashioned this whole place into one of peace and serenity. There’s no way the house is haunted.”

Jack twisted his body so he could view Ianto’s profile. He stared at Ianto for a long time, his expression one of speculation. “Perhaps we ought to expand your psychic training further. You’re much better at picking up on things than me, possibly because I’ve built such strong defences against stuff like this over the years.”

“Mmm,” came Ianto’s vague reply as his eyes scanned the trees. “I wonder if Will had some minor psychic gift.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Alexander’s letter said he had a favourite spot in the garden. I can’t help wondering whether there’s a reason he died out here in the garden, possibly under these very same trees.” He turned around, staying close to Jack, his expression calm and open. “I can understand. Having heard the melody of the trees and the leaves, I’d choose to die in this garden. It’s so tranquil.”

Out of instinct Jack stepped closer, bringing their bodies together. “Ianto…” he trailed off, struggling to find words to describe the cold fear worming through him.

Ianto offered him a melancholic smile, as if he understood how Jack felt, but was not touched by such concern.

“Ianto,” Jack started again, but this time he was interrupted by Gwen’s voice:

“Jack, Ianto, Tosh wants you to…oh.” She rounded the corner of the house and stopped in mid-sentence when she found them in a moment of close intimacy.

“Gwen,” Jack stated, both his words to Ianto and the earlier fear gone in a blink of an eye.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but Tosh sent me looking for you.” She watched with open curiosity as both men stepped away at the same time.

“I guess we should get to work inside,” Ianto said with obvious reluctance as he looked deeper into the garden.

“If you want a moment,” Jack spoke in a low tone so Gwen could not hear them, “take as long as you want. Just don’t lose yourself completely to the garden.”

“No need, Jack. I expect I’ll have plenty of opportunities to explore the music further.” His fingers brushed the back of Jack’s hand. “And thank you.”

Jack nodded and together they turned to approach Gwen. Her expression was still one of curiosity, but Jack thought he detected a hint of something else, jealousy perhaps, just below the surface.

“Lead the way,” he said, his voice neutral, and Gwen did as he asked.

They found Tosh and Owen in the kitchen, the floor littered with empty crates of technology. Tosh was bouncing with excitement, her face lit with delight. Owen was observing her enthusiasm with a bemused expression.

“Oh guys, this place is incredible!” she exclaimed as soon as they entered the room.

Jack grinned at her joy. “I’m glad you feel that way. What have you got for me?”

“Well, I’m sorry to say that I don’t have many answers yet, but I have made a pretty good start. The house and all these leaves are unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.” She picked up her laptop and motioned Jack and Ianto to come closer.

“There is something very strange going on with the leaves. I too detected the psychic residue on them, but I’m not all that convinced they are real leaves. They emit a faint sonic resonance, but our equipment can’t currently handle the frequency, so I’ll have to take some of it back to the Hub for re-tuning. Whatever the resonance is, I believe it’s the key to unlocking the secrets of the leaves. At the moment, I’m inclined to think that it’s a protection of sorts.”

“That’s certainly an excellent start,” Jack praised her, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“I’m not finished yet,” she said with a grin. “There is also a connection between the house and the leaves. I was testing the resonance both in here and outside on the porch, and there is a subtle change in that frequency I mentioned. If I had to make a wild guess, I would say that the house is protecting the leaves in some fashion. I can’t explain how or why, though.”

“So it’s possible something happened to the leaves I bagged yesterday.” Ianto looked up from reading the figures on the screen.

“Very possible,” Tosh agreed. “We should do some testing on that theory.”

Jack nodded. “Good idea. Ianto, Tosh, you work on that, while Gwen, Owen and I will get the sensors and cameras set up across the house. We’ll focus on the loft, though.”

“Okay, Jack. Let’s go, Ianto!” Tosh grabbed her equipment and hurried out of the kitchen.

Ianto was slower to follow, flashing the others an amused smile. Just as he left the room he heard Owen mutter, “Good luck with her, mate.”

He glanced over his shoulder long enough to wink at Owen and then hurried to catch up with Tosh. In doing so, he failed to notice the fond smile on Jack’s face, or the look of apprehension on Gwen’s as she stared at Jack.

Tosh was already by the front door, double checking the readings on her scanner and setting up a new database for their experiment. She said with excitement, “Grab a handful of leaves and then we can get started. I want to take base readings inside first and then proceed in half a yard increments away from the house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ianto smiled. Tosh’s only response was to peer at him over the top of her glasses in mock annoyance.

Tosh finished with the new database and then realised that Ianto had not moved from his spot by her side. Glancing up, she found him looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

“What is it?” she asked and made a move to get up. Ianto took her arm and helped her to stand.

“I’m just glad to see you so excited, that’s all,” Ianto said and pulled her into a quick hug. “I know how tough the last couple of weeks have been for you, since…” he left the sentence unfinished.

“Since Tommy, I know.” Sadness flickered across her face, only to be replaced by calm. “I can’t explain it, but it’s this house. In some way I can’t fathom this place amplifies the happiness I felt with Tommy, while at the same time soothing my sorrow.”

“I understand, Tosh,” Ianto assured her with a smile. “The house has much the same effect on me. So does the garden, as a matter of fact.”

“The others didn’t get what I was saying. Owen said he had the vaguest sense of emotions and Gwen can’t feel anything at all.”

“We’ve had the most psychic training, excepting Jack of course. But he said his defences against psychic influence are pretty strong.”

“That explains some of it, but not necessarily everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Tosh gave Ianto a knowing look. “I think you have to be emotional in the right sort of way to pick up on these things.”

“Like you and I?” Ianto ventured to guess.

“Exactly,” Tosh confirmed with a nod. “It’s more than that, though. Perhaps Owen could sense more, but I think he’s closed a part of himself off since Katie died. I don’t think he allows himself to feel much these days. Whereas you and I have had our fair share of losses and grief, but we learn from it and move on. And Gwen… Well, Gwen hasn’t really lost anything, has she?”

“I see what you mean and I can live with that theory.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Now, you wanted me to get you some leafy test subjects?”

“Yes, please.”

Ianto disappeared into the lounge and returned a moment later with a handful of leaves. He held them with care, so none would be bent or torn.

“Let’s get started.” The glint of excitement was back in Tosh’s eyes as she ran her scanner over the leaves.

They proceeded out of the house according to Tosh’s plan, the open database on her laptop filling up with figures as each scan result was automatically uploaded. As the distance from the house grew, they noticed a difference in the readings and they became almost unrecognisable from the starting figures. Ianto also began to detect a faint vibration within the leaves he was holding, which had not been there inside or just outside the house. The emotions they inspired had started out as pleasant, but were becoming more oppressive in his mind.

Ianto was about to ask Tosh to stop when the leaves gave off an audible hum and vanished from his hand.

He called her name to draw attention to his empty hands.

“What happened?” She frowned as she ran the scanner over his fingers.

“The leaves made a strange noise and just disappeared. One moment I was holding them and the next they were gone.”

“They really are gone.” Tosh squinted at the scanner. “The figures have returned to the levels I’d expect to find on normal human hands.”

“So what on earth happened?”

Tosh looked confused. “I honestly couldn’t say. I’ll have to get back to the Hub to analyse all the data we collected and run some simulations.”

“In that case we might as well go back inside and see how the others are faring.”

While Ianto and Tosh were outside, Jack, Owen and Gwen progressed through the house, setting up sensors and cameras in each room. They focused most of their attention on the loft, as that seemed to be focal point for the leaves. Having agreed on the positions for the equipment in the loft, Owen left to fetch his laptop from the kitchen. Jack continued working, conscious of Gwen’s eyes on him.

“What is it?” he asked without turning around.

Gwen flushed a little at having been caught staring. “I was just wondering whether everything is alright; whether you’re alright?”

“How come?” Jack was vague on purpose.

“I clearly interrupted something in the garden…” she hesitated and then blundered on, “and you looked upset, so are you okay?”

“What you walked in on, that’s between me and Ianto,” Jack said, his tone making it clear that the subject was not open for discussion.

“But is there such a thing as you and Ianto?”

“That again is something that’s between me and him,” Jack stated with a hint of exasperation.

“But if it impacts the way we do our jobs,” Gwen started, but Jack interrupted her.

“It won’t.” There was a distinct tightening around his eyes, indicating that his patience was wearing thin.

Gwen opened her mouth to argue the point, but before she could say anything, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Owen strode in a moment later, followed by Tosh and Ianto.

Owen got on with checking the connections between the equipment in the room and the Hub’s network. The others, however, sensed the tension in the room and Ianto’s eyes moved from Jack to Gwen and back. Although his expression was bland, his shoulders were tight as a subtle sign of his discomfort. He turned away and bent down to run his fingers across the top of the nearest heap of leaves.

Tosh glanced at Ianto, then directed her words to Jack. “We’re finished outside, so Owen suggested we come and give you a hand up here.”

“Good. We’re nearly done anyway.”

They finished their set up in silence, each team member knowing what to do without asking. Both Tosh and Gwen noticed that Jack’s eyes kept straying to Ianto, but neither commented.

Jack straightened up after installing the final floor level Rift sensor and brushed dust off his hands. “That’s it, I think. Owen, is all this stuff transmitting correctly?”

Owen looked at his laptop for a moment before nodding. “Yes, everything looks fine, both in here and with the rest of the house.”

“Excellent. You and Tosh, do a final sweep of the rooms to check that everything is secure and we haven’t left things lying around. Gwen, start taking the rest of the equipment still downstairs to the SUV. Ianto and I will bring down these crates here.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, and Tosh and Owen walked straight out. Gwen hesitated for a moment, but after a pointed look from Jack she followed the others.

Once they were alone in the room, some of the tension left Jack’s body and he turned to Ianto with a huff. “Gwen was prying.”

“About what she saw in the garden?” Ianto clarified as he began to gather equipment.

“Yep. I told her it was private, which didn’t sit well with her.”

“I can imagine,” Ianto said over his shoulder.

“Anyway, I’m hoping she took my not so subtle hint to leave the matter alone.”

Ianto nodded and offered Jack a brief smile.

“So, how do you feel inside the house now?” Jack asked, watching Ianto work. “Given your findings about the garden earlier, that is.”

Ianto shrugged and moved to close a case that housed a set of wireless CCTV cameras. “Much the same, I guess. Perhaps I’m a little more aware of the house and the emotions.” He rested his hand against an exposed roof beam. “It feels like a myriad of feelings has seeped into the very structure of the house.”

“We’ll figure this place out,” Jack found himself promising.

“Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. Either way, I must admit I’m slightly in love with it already.”

Jack regarded him for a moment, before making up his mind. “Have dinner with me tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

“We have dinner most nights together at the Hub,” Ianto reminded him, as he stacked the crates.

“I know. Forget take out with the team. What I would like is a dinner with you, in a restaurant. Wine would be nice; candles and pleasant music a definite plus. So how about that?”

This time Ianto did look at Jack before responding, his eyes softening into familiar affection. “I'd like that.”

“Good. I'll book a table somewhere for, say, seven thirty?” Jack beamed.

“Sounds good to me. Assuming no Rift emergencies crop up.”

“The others can deal with those, I should think. We both deserve a night off.”

“That sounds perfect,” Ianto said with a small smile.

“Shall I come and pick you up at seven?”

“Or we could just leave from the Hub together,” Ianto countered.

Jack took a step closer and took Ianto's hand in his own. “I want to do this properly. And that includes picking you up.”

“Very well. I suppose it also includes kissing me goodbye at my door and then leaving like a proper gentleman,” Ianto teased him.

“That sounds far less appealing. How about we go from the Hub, as you suggested, and then spend the whole night in bed together?” Jack retorted, accompanying his words with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Ianto rolled his eyes. Slipping his hand free from Jack's grip, he picked up two crates and walked across the empty room, calling out over his shoulder, “And they say romance is dead.”

“I can be romantic!” Jack objected after him. “Who says I wasn't planning on covering the bed with red rose petals first!”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” came a faint reply as Ianto descended the stairs back to the first floor.


End file.
